LES PAUL casts such a mammothshadow across all things
guitar that it’s easy to assume the man simply
controlled all aspects of his myth and legend from his
cramped home workshop in Mahwah, New Jersey. But that’s
not exactly true. In fact, as Paul started coming back
from his “retirement” in the mid ’60s, he found a
sounding board, guitar tech, soundman, and general
co-conspirator in a young man named Tom Doyle. In a
life-changing twist of fate, Doyle and his sister were
actually doing a Les Paul and Mary Ford tribute act in
1965—presented with, for the time, state-of-the-art
sound gear—and Paul happened to catch one of the shows.

“When he
came to see us, he was completely taken aback by
how the show sounded,” remembers Doyle. “He
said, ‘Gee whiz, this sounds great. How are you
doing it?’ And I think he realized that I was a
young guy who was similar to him in searching
for sound, so he said, ‘You’ve got to come up to
the house.’ Well, to be invited to Les Paul’s
home—that was what I wanted to hear, but I had
no idea it would happen, or that he would be
such a huge part of my life for the next five
decades.”

In Les Paul’s
control room around 1965—“The famous original
8-track Ampex is behind me,” says Doyle. “We’re
troubleshooting one of Les’ ‘funny boxes’ as he
would call them. He was always looking for that
better sound.”

But the
invitation was a two-edged sword, as Paul
started testing Doyle almost relentlessly by
having him play his guitars and asking him what
he thought about them, and whether he could
improve them. Eventually, Paul was satisfied
that Doyle had good ears and good ideas, and he
asked the luthier and craftsman to work on his
guitars.

“Les looked at guitars as tools, and he’d do
whatever he thought necessary to get them up to
par so he could use them,” says Doyle. “He had
no tools to speak of, so he’d use a hot
screwdriver and a hammer to chisel out the wood,
and just go to work adding or subtracting
electronics. He also stored his guitars in a
damp cellar, and his active mind didn’t allow
him to take care of his own instruments.

Les’ kitchen in
the early ’70s—“We were discussing an idea about
a new pickup for banjos or drums,” remembers
Doyle. “You can see the popcorn in a bowl behind
me. Les always loved his popped corn.”

So
most of his guitars were just wrecks—absolutely
ruined. He’d give me one or two to work on, and
I’d practically have to rebuild them. And I’m
talking about a 1927 L5, or prototype Les Pauls—real
valuable, historic instruments. Another
challenge was that Les Paul was not patient. He
wanted things when he wanted them. He’d say,
‘This guitar needs a hysterectomy. Can you have
it done next week?’ I’d go, ‘Les, the sides are
broken out and there are holes everywhere. I
have to resurrect it!’”

Soon, Doyle was invited to take part in almost
every aspect of Paul’s creative world, and the
music legend came to trust and enjoy their
brainstorming sessions.

Remastering one of
Les’ recordings, 1986—“Just to my left is the
Stevens Coil [pickup] winder Les got from Gibson
in Kalamazoo,” says Doyle. “He gave it to me
that night.”

And, again, being brought into Paul’s inner sanctum was
not without risk.

“There was no day and night with Les,” says Doyle. “He’d
get wound up and stay awake for days on end. When he
really got into what he was doing with you, he’d say,
‘Now I’m going to make some popcorn.’ And you’d sit in
his kitchen for what seemed like forever. He was such a
pisser. He’d never stop trying to figure out how to make
everything better, and his commitment to quality was off
the charts.”

But even the days-long
kitchen sessions couldn’t match Paul’s obsession with
his performances that started at Fat Tuesdays in
Manhattan, and later moved to the Iridium. Not
surprisingly, Doyle was commandeered to help critique
and improve Paul’s live sound.

“He called me
one day, and said, ‘I’m picking you up, and
we’re going to Fat Tuesdays, and I want you to
listen to the sound and tell me what you hear,’”
says Doyle. “I did hear some problems, so all of
a sudden I was his sound engineer. He said,
‘You’re doing the mixing, Tom. Go for blood.’
And for 27 years, I drove him to the club and
took him home. I’d tape each show, and we’d go
into the car between sets and listen to what he
just played. He’d say things like, ‘Here’s what
you did wrong. Don’t let me get buried. I want
to be out there.’ Then, we’d listen to the show
on the drive home. Then, we’d get to his house,
and he’d say. ‘Let’s break bread and talk about
the show again.’ And we’d listen to it in the
living room, the kitchen, and his bedroom
because the tape sounded different in every
room. He always wanted everything to be better,
and he was just as hard on his own performances
as he was on the sound.”

At the Iridium in
the mid ’90s—“I’ve always liked this picture of
Les and me,” says Doyle. “Les was having a good
night playing—even with his arthritis.”

Even though Paul
passed away in 2009, Doyle is still “collaborating” with
the man on what was one of the guitar great’s last
projects - giving high-impedance humbucker pickups more
clarity and punch. Using the White 2002 Les Paul given
to him as a 50th anniversary present by Gibson as a
sonic foundation, Paul toiled obsessively on finding
ways to improve current humbuckers. As a homage to his
friend and mentor, Doyle is continuing the project, and
recently released his Limited Edition Doyle Coil TRU-CLONES
PAF ’57 Humbuckers.

“I was a very
lucky man to work so closely with Les, but I was always
very aware that if you didn’t do the right thing for
him, you were gone,” says Doyle. “Sometimes, I’d even
tell him that if I wasn’t getting something right there
were other guys who could come in and do it. He’d say,
‘No. It’s not that you’re doing it wrong. It’s just that
I’m trying to make it better.’ We had a great
relationship, and Les was like my second father. We had
a lot of fun together.”